


Waltzing the Bruise, the Mechanism Unspools: a Jack/Ianto date fic

by kayliemalinza



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-02
Updated: 2008-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Ianto negotiate their new "official" relationship through a series of dates. Ianto's gun-shy, Jack's secretive, and they're both trying as hard as they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltzing the Bruise, the Mechanism Unspools: a Jack/Ianto date fic

**Author's Note:**

> The passage of time is marked by quotations, in bold, taken from these Season Two episodes in order: "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang," "Sleeper," "To The Last Man," and "Meat."

**_How are you, Ianto?_**

 **_I was thinking, maybe we could, you know, when this is all done—dinner, a movie...._**

 ** __****_Are you asking me out on a date?_**

 **  
_Interested?_   
**

 

 

            The dinner is lovely and Italian. They chat about the wine list, menu, passersby, clothes and similar minutiae but beneath the conversation they are circling each other like jungle cats. Slowly moving in for reacquaintance via mutual sniffing. Presumably metaphorically speaking, but possibly not.

             The movie is rubbish but extraordinary for the silent moment half an hour in: a character is poised outside a door, listening for danger, and Jack presses the tips of his fingers into the back of Ianto's hand. Ianto leans to the other side of the seat, chin propped up on fist. His face flickers white, disinterested, but his other hand turns slowly over, clutches Jack's fingers and palm and strokes a thumb around the wrist bone. Jack begins to grin even though the movie isn't funny.

            Fast forward two hours, to the Hub. Sometime after the flirting in the Plass and Jack's eyebrow leading him up to the office and the careful slackening of a tie, then more flirting because Jack is good at it, a comment slices sideways into the conversation because what Ianto is good at is dry wit and the vicious holding of a grudge. Apparently he's not as good at repression as he used to be. He is more surprised than Jack, because he _didn't mean to say that_

 _oh but you meant it_

 _i'm sorry i said it_

 _i'm not, i'm glad you said that because i want to do this right so let's talk about it_

 _let's not_

 _this isn't going any further until we do; any problems you have, i want to hear them_

 _tonight was nice, let's just stop here_

 _why not do it now? just us, this room, as long as it takes_

 _No._

 _Why?_

            Ianto wants to hold on to the thrill that coiled in his belly earlier, the jolt at Jack's wide smile, the easy way they bumped into each other while walking, just a little bit on purpose. He doesn't want to do this tonight because he didn't know they needed to until that accusation slipped out, because he doesn't know precisely what he's angry about, because once they do this it will be a proper relationship, the first one he's had since Lisa and remembering her still hurts. When he fell in love with her, he saw it like a mountain road and the road with Jack is longer; it curves right up to the very top and the higher you go up, the more sharp rocks there are to cut you when you fall. Jack says they need to talk about this and Jack is always right. He has more experience than all of them and Ianto knows he's spent nights like this, he's weathered the yelling and the anger and knows it comes out right in the end. Ianto trusts Jack completely but he just can't do this tonight. He's afraid.

            Ianto hasn't said anything but Jack's been watching him. Jack sighs, sits on the corner of his desk and says, "Ok."

            Ianto, hands on hips, looks up.

            Jack smiles. "We don't have to do this tonight if you don't want to."

            Ianto glances at the wall, the window, some papers out of place. "Can—can we go on another date tomorrow?"

            "If you want."

            Ianto nods. "There's, um." He pauses, clears his throat. "There's a museum opening in the evening, and there's some exhibits that I...."

            "Sounds great." Jack is still leaning on his desk, arms hanging lightly at his sides. Ianto thinks he's seen that pose in management training manuals under 'non-confrontational body language.'

            "Eight o' clock?" Ianto says, because those kinds of details, at least, are easy. His hands are loosening their grasp on his hips.

            "I'll pick you up," says Jack. "Will you let me walk you to the door tonight?"

            "Yes," says Ianto, almost whispering.

            They're careful not to bump into each other this time, but agree that a goodnight kiss is customary. Jack's arms are heavy and warm around his shoulders, and Ianto's belly is coiled up again and he thinks that maybe this time, if he doesn't say anything, Jack will keep kissing him and then they'll undo each other's shirt buttons and the room will spin, but Jack pulls back, traces a finger around the shell of Ianto's ear.

            "Tomorrow night," he says.

 **_'Just us. This room, as long as it takes.' Terrifying._**

 **  
__  
_Really?_   
**

**_Absolutely. Shivers down my spine._  
**

 **_You don't look scared._  
**

 **_It... passed._  
**

            Their second date goes better. Their museum visit is something of a stand-off, with Jack claiming superior knowledge due to personal experience with the artifacts on display and Ianto claiming superior knowledge due to exhaustive research and Jack is probably lying, anyway, and Jack retorts that his honor has been insulted, good sir. Ianto replies that the biggest threat to Jack's reputation is Jack himself. Jack concedes the point but demands a gesture of contrition anyway, to be performed in a shadowed corner of the museum. Ianto acquiesces and later concludes that contrition is more fun, more warm and clutching than it is generally regarded. Jack laughs and kisses him again.

            In the Hub their flirting tapers off, because they're scheduled to have an argument and punctuality is a virtue. Ianto accepts Jack's invitation to go first and pulls a print-out from his jacket pocket.

            "I've re-read my diary," he says. "I made notes of all past incidents and compiled a List of Grievances and Concerns."

            "It's an actual list?" Jack says.

            "Cross-referenced," Ianto replies.

            Jack nods solemnly.

            "Do you have a problem with this, Jack?" Ianto asks.

            Jack waves his hands in an overt gesture of approval and good will. "No, not at all. That's—that's a really good idea. I see you've been thorough."

            "I thought that would be best," Ianto says without inflection.

            "Absolutely," Jack says. There's a short pause, wherein Jack's face contorts with a multitude of emotions. "Actually—I just—can I please have just a moment to, you know, laugh at you?"

            Ianto sighs. "I would have to add that to the list," he says.

            "That seems fair," Jack says, already snickering. He tries to restrain the laughter with a hand over his mouth, but he errs in glancing at Ianto's aggrieved expression. It sends him into convulsions—Ianto remarks that he is being most excessive, and that shall have to be added to the List as well—and the laughter continues until Jack waves him over, pulling Ianto to sit snugly beside him on the edge of Jack's desk. Jack takes the List.

            "It's in ascending order of importance," Ianto says quietly.

            Jack nods, takes Ianto's hand in his, and they begin to talk.

 

 _is that going to be a problem?_

 _it's not on the list_

 _even so, are you still upset about it?_

 _well, i, no. of course not_

 _you're lying_

 _don't be silly_

 _i have my own list of concerns, ianto, and right at the top of it is that you don't tell me enough_

 _is your list in descending order, then?_

 _ianto_

 _jack_

 _stop messing around_

 _jack—_

 _I mean it._

 _That's a deal-breaker, Ianto._

 

            Jack tries using his hands. Tugging Ianto's wrists to hold them close against his chest; wrapping hotly on the back of Ianto's neck, left thumb placed distractingly beneath an ear; shaking him by the shoulders; throwing a stapler across the room.

            "Careful," Ianto says. "You'll have to wait for the next expense report to requisition a new one."

            The look Jack gives him hurts. That's good, because Ianto has been numb ever since the conversation strayed too far. He feels like the Hub: an unauthorized toe across the infrared beam and it all goes into shut-down. He wants to give Jack what he wants, even a stupid revelation like he can't watch _Terminator_ anymore, or that the taste of honey reminds him of a boy he liked even before he knew that boys could like other boys. Jack would accept a scrap of honesty like that and wait until he's given more, except Ianto can't give him anything because his voice is spinning in a rut. He's telling quip after quip but not getting any traction.

            "Perhaps I should go," Ianto says.

            "If that's what you want to do," Jack sighs. He turns away, scrubbing at his face with both hands as he walks around the desk. He leans one arm against the window overlooking the Hub, resting his forehead on his wrist.

            Ianto is walking over there before he makes the decision to, slipping between Jack and the window, grabbing Jack's head by the ears and smashing their mouths together so fast it hurts. Jack presses him against the window, which shoots adrenaline through Ianto because he won't admit it but he's afraid of heights. The kiss is messy, all mis-angled teeth and swerving tongues, and Ianto is sure that Jack is wrinkling his suit. Jack presses him further into the window and Ianto pushes himself off the floor, hooking his thighs over Jack's hipbones, arms clutched behind his neck. They haven't grappled like this since Christmas, when Jack came back smelling like nitrogen dioxide and cornered Ianto in the archives.

            Ianto silently unspools. Jack's been back for days but Ianto's slow in understanding that, somehow. He's bottled up so much for so long that he's _missing the mechanism that makes normal people feel_

 _don't talk about yourself like that_

 _but it's true_

 _you're not a machine_

 _i used to think that would be easier_

 _I can't just switch it off._

 _Take all the time you need. I'll wait for you._

 

            Jack stays with him in the Plass until the cab shows up, saying that it's cold and dangerous at night. Ianto says it is not cold and he has a suit jacket anyhow, and he can handle himself in dark as well as in light. He is clutching Jack's hand so tightly he is afraid that Jack will say it hurts. The wind picks up a little bit and the cab is sweeping around the last turn, still a ways off, and Jack presses his lips to Ianto's forehead. Just because he can.

            Ianto feels like a fragile sheaf of papers folded up on the backseat. Jack is a blur against the Water Tower until the cab turns out of sight.

 

 **_Would you miss me?_**

 **  
__  
_Yep._   
**

**  
**

**_Do you get lonely?_**

 **  
__  
_Going home wouldn't fix that. Being here, I've seen things I never dreamt I'd see, loved people I never would have known if I'd just stayed where I was. And I wouldn't change that for the world._   
**

 

 

            Ianto wakes up the Sunday after that and the sun is slanting differently, he thinks, or the air inside his flat is slightly coloured, or the sheets on his bed have been replaced with those of softer cotton. He feels nice. His phone is on the nightstand and he sends a text before the calm wears off: _Breakfast date. My address is on file—bring bagels_.

            Jack is there in 20 minutes, holding a white paper bag and making a curious noise when he sees Ianto's pajama bottoms, soft and thin and draping down just right. He likes the toes peeking out at the hems, he says. Ianto presses against him and Jack's fingers swirl at the small of his back, scrunching up the t-shirt. Ianto laughs into Jack's mouth because it tickles.

            "Good morning," Jack murmurs.

            "I'm hungry," says Ianto.

            Jack chuckles and offers the bag, watching Ianto reach into it eagerly and tear out a jagged bite from the heart of the bagel, then taking a bagel himself and glancing around the flat. Interior brick may be chic but the spluttery mortar is not; the floors are dipped and rolling, rotted dark in spots. The window latch is broken and it creaks insistently against the sill, saying _skree-skree-skree_. The kitchen has a crooked doorway.

            Ianto is chewing his bagel more politely now. His eyes flick to the bagel and the bag then back to Jack. They do not waver; they are bullets poised inside the sockets.

            "Don't I pay you enough?" says Jack carefully.

            "I went into a lot of debt after Canary Wharf," says Ianto. "Bribes, equipment, storage facilities; I was trying to help Lisa." He speaks quickly but without censure; he hopes to get the words out before he has a chance to reconsider.

            Jack nods slowly because he's just realized what kind of date this is and it's a good thing. Like a tetanus shot. The walls of Ianto's flat are almost naked and his feet are bare. His soles. Jack thinks that smirking now would be misconstrued so he eats his bagel. Ianto leads him to the couch and starts to talk.

 

 _thank you_

 _your turn_

 _who's gray?_

 _i don't want to talk about that_

 _someone else in torchwood should know who he is_

 _he's nothing to do with torchwood_

 _captain john hart mentioned him and that makes him relevant_

 _captain john hart is a compulsive liar_

 _can you gamble on that? we need to be ready_

 _gray's dead;  you don't need to know more than that_

 _I need to be the man who knows everything._

 _I'm your secretary, Jack. I keep your secrets._

 

            Jack tells him about the Doctor, and a bit about the man with the alias of Captain John Hart, and it's all good information but Ianto can sense the parts that he's left out. Ianto doesn't mind; he asks small leading questions, lets Jack dodge around the parts he doesn't want to say. Jack's sense of fair play stops him mid-sentence and he hangs his head.

            "I'm a hypocrite," he moans. "I yell at you for evading my questions, and then the first thing you ask me...."

            "Shall I throw a stapler?" Ianto asks.

            Jack laughs at that, then lies across Ianto's lap. He presses his face into the sofa cushions, the nubble of old upholstery. Ianto wraps his arms around Jack as best as he knows how, because when it comes to comforting embraces Jack is king and Ianto is the pretender. He's doing little more than squishing Jack further into his lap and into the sofa, but Jack grabs his hand and kisses fiercely at his knuckles, so Ianto's embrace must be adequate.

            "I promise, I will tell you," Jack says, sounding muffled.

            Ianto shushes him, pressing his thumb against Jack's lips. "You don't have to tell me today," he murmurs. Maybe he shouldn't be so relenting. Maybe he should return the favor Jack did him, push at the barriers Jack's built until he finds the chinks but that's not how he works. Jack is a wrecking ball but Ianto is a chisel, or maybe rain that seeps in and makes wood rot. "We'll have more dates," he says.

            Jack sighs and kisses all his knuckles again, one at a time. He unfurls Ianto's fingers by pressing his thumb into the palm. He nuzzles lightly, scrapes his teeth along the fingerpads. Ianto smiles and blows, just once, on the nape of Jack's neck.

 

 _  
**None of you have any partners outside of this.**   
_

_  
**But we understand how you feel.**   
_

_  
**No, you don't. No, you don't, Jack!**   
_

 

            Jack is bruised. He slinks around his office, licking wounds. He rearranges papers on his desk, loads and unloads his pistol. Cleans it. Crosses to a bookshelf filled with marbles, knick-knacks, bits of broken guns. A red and yellow carapace. He picks up an irridescent puzzle cube with sliding blocks and pulls the pieces along their tracks, clicks them softly into place. Click, shhhh, click. If he moves the pieces at just the right speed, the colors of the cube will flush and bubble.

            Ianto knocks lightly on the office door before slipping in. He has food, takeaway but dished out on a proper plate and Jack works very hard at not rolling his eyes. He'd like to be immature for a while, snark and sigh despite himself, but Gwen's already done that today. She was cringing at herself behind the eyes even as her voice pitched up. Jack just breathes out and turns away, flicking the puzzle pieces along their tracks when Ianto holds out the plate. Jack says he isn't hungry.

            Ianto's eyebrow is suspiciously neutral. He takes the puzzle cube away and his smile is subtle, soft at the corners, a mix between _I am at your service_ and _I am about to kick you in the knee_. Context being crucial. Jack shakes his head and puts the plate on the desk—although the smell of curry sparks his nose and mouth appealingly—and puts his hands on Ianto's forearms, slides them down to interlace their fingers.

            "Do you want to go on a date?" he asks.

            "Where to?" Ianto asks, and Jack looks around the office for a moment because he doesn't quite mean 'date.' He means— "Ah," says Ianto. He steps away, one hand still encased in Jack's, and turns on the stereo. He comes back and takes up Jack's hand again and they're swaying to the gentle jazz that's been in the player for a month, because Jack loves this album despite Ianto's hints that variety is pleasing. Ianto hints at nothing now, just slides an arm around Jack's waist. Jack leans into him, kisses him below the ear, breathes deep and mumbles that he doesn't want to be like her, except sometimes he does, and he thinks she's how he used to be. Ianto strokes the back of his neck, fingers carding lightly through the hair, and Jack hears himself more clearly, almost angry when he says _you can't always do what your heart wants_

 _the heart is a rather stupid organ, all things considered_

 _i'd take a bullet for you_

 _that would certainly be practical_

 _no, i—yes, it would, but besides that_

 _heroic gestures are rarely efficient_

 _it's not a zero-sum game_

 _i know_

 _i don't want it to be_

 _i know_

 _I'm sorry, Ianto. I'm sorry because I wasn't scared._

 _I'm not._

 

            Jack pulls back to look at him now, brows drawn together. Ianto still has that curling smile and he won't let Jack go. He turns Jack's hand to a proper following grip and starts to waltz. Small steps, but insistent. Jack sighs and lets Ianto lead him, front and back and in a swoozy circle. Rhys and Gwen were tunnel-sighted, he says, they were stupid and too caught up and they were gorgeous. He sighs and lets his fingers spasm on the seams of Ianto's waistcoat. "I went into a zone," he says. "I was concentrating on the whale, on the guys with guns, the layout of the boxes, exits. That doesn't mean—" His voice is pushing too hard. "I was worried about you, but at the same time—"

            "You pushed it aside and trusted me to do my job," says Ianto. "I'm well-trained in combat, you know," he smirks. "My boss provided extensive hands-on instruction."

            Jack chuckles half-heartedly and lets Ianto push him out for a spin. When he twirls back Ianto kisses him, no tongue but long and tilting. They lose the beat. Jack is slow to open his eyes when Ianto pulls away but he does at last, and Ianto's mouth is slightly pink but straight-edged stern.

            "Convince yourself of whatever you need to," Ianto says, voice thrumming low. "But let me do my job. And no histrionics in front of the others, please."

            Jack is silent for a moment, and Ianto tugs him back into the rhythm. Another clockwise circle and Jack says uncertainly, "Am I allowed to save your life?"

            "Yes," says Ianto gravely. "You maybe even save me from mud puddles. I like to keep my suits tidy." Jack wants to make a joke of that, maybe leer, but his brow is still knit and troubled so Ianto pushes at him, says _Jack_ and means _pay attention_. Ianto flexes his fingers still laced with Jack's, though their waltz has been abandoned. "I defend myself with your hands," he says. "And this—" He falters, finds a foothold in Jack's gaze and sways them close together; he kisses the curl of jaw beneath Jack's ear. "These are your lips I'm using," he whispers.

            Jack makes a noise that's soft and broken.

            Ianto huffs, looks from Jack to the floor, the desk, the curry still on it. He bites his lip to stop the spreading smile, lets Jack kiss that smile and chase it, draw it wider, fill it up. His cheeks are pinking when he pulls back and says the food is getting cold. Jack laughs.

            When a quarter of the plate has been scraped clean, Jack finds himself talking about a man he knew who liked for Jack to save him, swoop in and lead him by the elbow from an inappropriately swerving conversation, or step in front of drunks and talk them down. Eventually they went to war and Jack told him not to manufacture danger anymore, but before that he would swoon and Jack would grin and feel puffed up. During a midnight battle Jack ran across the line of fire, jumped from trenches, even died three times but found his lover hiding in a half-demolished boot shop. He grabbed Jack's arm and said I knew you'd come. I love you.

            Jack asks if stories like this make Ianto jealous.

            Ianto says they don't.

            "Do you wish they did?" He's staring hard and Ianto seems confused so Jack elaborates: "Do you wonder if you're really being mature, or if this is another way to stay distant?" Ianto's mouth falls open and Jack watches the gears spin hotly in his mind, smoke and slither to a conclusionary stop. "I wish I could still love someone as stupidly as Gwen loves Rhys," Jack says.

            "I wish you'd stop thinking about stupid Gwen," Ianto snaps back. Jack grins and Ianto scowls. He crosses his arms and wants to look away. Instead he takes aim and fires with his eyes and says s _he's perfect for who you used to be, but now it would be rubbish_

            w _ho's perfect for me now_

 _what makes you think i know_

 _i'm eating curry_

 _that doesn't make much sense_

 _it does, though_

 _Ianto. Thank you._

 

            Ianto takes him downstairs when he's finished and they nuzzle in the sheets, the jazz still drifting from above. Sometime before dawn, Jack strokes his thumb across Ianto's hip, presses deeper into the pillow and, almost without hesitation, tells him about Gray.


End file.
